


Mimicry

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [10]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF!Aziraphale, Case Fic, Crowley gets seriously hurt, Established Relationship, Heaven & Hell, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-12
Updated: 2005-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has been stolen from both Heaven and Hell... by a human. It's up to Aziraphale and Crowley to get it back. And it's much more than meets the eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mimicry

The landscape was a surreal vision of black, red and everything in between the two colours. The sky was painted an orange nightmare with purple and yellow and streaks of blood red mingling with yellow. No clouds were visible. What could be seen of the ground was burned black, flaky, with ash rising wherever one stepped. The fine dust rose, clinging to the clothes, clogging the airways, and noxious gases permeated the air. Here and there a small geyser sputtered or burped up more gas, the soft ground surrounding it the colour of blood and something else even less savoury.

In the middle of this nightmare was a table. It was made of black stone, ornate, old, the surface polished to a gleaming mirror. The feet looked like claws, digging into the rocky surface for purchase, and the surface seemed to slide and slip and move, like a lake. The chairs were no different, the backs made up of stylized bones and screaming beast heads topping them.

At least the chairs had cushions, even if they were a rather tacky colour and had little tassels on all four sides.

Walking through the volcanic, hellish landscape, a man in a summer suit approached the table. He was dressed to fit into a Fifties beach club, not this place, and his face gave away his disdain at his location.

"Oh please," he addressed the suddenly appearing second man. "This is a bit over the top, even for you, don't you think?"

He gracefully took a chair and arched an eyebrow at his companion.

"The old style is coming back. Retro, they call it," was the smooth answer.

A soft chuckle. "This is a bit more than retro. This is very… clichéd."

"Oh well." With a wave of the other's hand the landscape changed and turned from hellish to rather normal.

"A coffee shop?" the man in the summer suit asked.

"This is Hell," his host reminded him. "We do it with style."

Two plastic cups, extra tall, appeared, frothy, with flavour, chocolate sauce on top, and a piece of hellishly creamy pie on the side.

The guest nodded, taking a plastic spoon. "I noticed."

"So, what's the news?" the host asked, trying the pie and smiling dreamily at the sinfulness of the taste.

"You know how it is. Office matters, paperwork, paper pushers, small hassles and people who think they reinvented the wheel while actually throwing the whole car off track."

The other chuckled. "Oh yes, that. It'll never change."

"Our two friends have been rather busy lately."

"At it like rabbits."

Eyes the colour of all colours narrowed a little. "I wasn't talking about their sex life."

"Which is quite active, I have to mention."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that."

The dark-haired host smirked.

"They still do their respective jobs."

"It's in the blood," the host waved it off with a gesture of his fork. "Though they do tend to drift over to the respective other sides sometimes. Have you noticed how their existence changed?"

"I did." The guest took a little sip from his Mocha. "Intriguing."

"Could be the sex, huh?"

"I was talking about this beverage. It's… intriguing."

"You consider it a sin."

A smile. "A delightful one, though."

Chuckles were exchanged.

"Now about that other matter," the host went on and it drew a raised eyebrow. "Since when do you let them fall so easily again?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your troops, pal. Your troops. I haven't had a newcomer in ages. Actually quite a while. And suddenly there's him, powerful and strong and recently fallen."

The cup was carefully placed onto the coffee table. "What are you talking about?"

Eyes the colour of charcoal rolled. "Oh please! Don't play dumb. One of your angels fell. He was dumped right in front of my door."

"I'm not aware of any such incident."

Brows drew down. "Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not aware of any Fallen."

Silence reigned for a moment and two eternal beings gauged each other's reaction, trying to see who was lying and then find out why. But no lies were seen and confusion rose.

"What's his name?" the light dressed man asked carefully.

"Demerel."

"There is no such angel."

"Well, he's Fallen, so that might account for it," was the nasty reply.

"There has never been such an angel either."

The host conjured up a picture and held it out to the other. "Trigger any memories?"

Ancient eyes gazed at the picture. "No. He's unfamiliar to me." He looked at the other. "I'm telling you, none of mine have Fallen in millennia. None. It's a rather outdated practice."

Silence again and both looked at the picture.

"I'll have my people check into this," the visitor finally said and rose gracefully.

His host nodded. "Good. I'll do the same. He's still here, so I doubt it'll take long." He smirked. "Call?"

"I always do."

The smirk widened. "Yeah, you do."

And with that they disappeared, leaving behind the coffee shop that slowly seemed to melt into the landscape, until it was gone, too.

 

* * *

 

In a hotel room several thousand miles away from home, Aziraphale gradually returned to the feeling of not being alone. Blinking a few times he remembered having had the still a little unfamiliar sensation of falling asleep – and after stretching a little, his body reminded him as of why. Twinges in parts of his body that normally didn’t twinge – well, lately they did every now and then, he had to admit – were a clear aide memoire of what had happened the other night. And of what he had done.

There was a soft sigh at his side and when Aziraphale turned his head toward the sound he was rewarded with the sight of a demon.

A sleeping demon, to be precise.

Aziraphale smiled and watched his lover closely, making use of the rare moment.

Crowley was lying on his side, halfway snuggled into the blanket, his face relaxed in his sleep. One loose strand of jet black hair fell into his face as he moved a little in his sleep, and Aziraphale brushed it away carefully, feeling an exceptional wave of tenderness rush through him when watching his lover sleeping so peacefully. Innocent.

Oh, Crowley was far from innocent, but yet… the sudden upsurge of tenderness and love seemed to somehow form a band around his chest, making him blink against an odd blurriness in his vision.

Serpentine eyes cracked open hesitantly as if Crowley had somehow sensed his state and he sighed sleepily before slowly seemed to focus.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale wasn’t even sure he made a sound for there was a lump forming in his throat… for goodness sake, he was an angel, a heavenly creature created by the Lord himself. But he must have made a sound, because Crowley actually blinked at him.

“Zira?”

He simply lurched himself into the warmth that was Anthony Crowley, the man he loved more than he possibly should. Strong arms closed around him, pulling him even closer to his lover’s chest and he let his head rest against one shoulder.

“Zira … what’s wrong, angel?”

Aziraphale exhaled, feeling the calming sensation of his lover’s heartbeat soothing him, and he wrapped his own arms even closer around Crowley's powerful form.

“In fact… nothing, love.”

Crowley made a noncommittal sound, but tightened his hold wordlessly.

 

 

He held his angel, listening to the harsh breaths evening out and becoming softer, more like he was used to. Crowley had woken to the sudden spike of energy next to him. Not in an alarming way or anything, just… mystified. It had been pure energy, warm and gentle and bright, and very much angelic. It had been the same type of energy he felt throughout their sexual activities, when Aziraphale climaxed.

This energy had been very much like it, but with a different tang to it. Quite different.

It had been… intense… in a soulful way.

Now, looking at the dark blond head on his chest, listening to the soft breaths, stroking over the silky hair, Crowley wondered.

"Zira?" he whispered a question.

"I'm okay," Aziraphale replied.

He could sense that. His angel was perfectly fine, but echoes of those strange feelings, of that spike of energy that was like sex but more than it, were still radiating off him.

"I know you are."

A sigh of warm air gusted over his shoulder and the hug tightened briefly. Crowley waited.

"I love you," Aziraphale suddenly said, his voice whisper-soft.

"I know, Zira." And he felt the same.

"No, you don't," the angel murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Huh?"

Aziraphale tensed a little and Crowley wished he could see his lover's eyes.

"Body, mind, spirit. It's everywhere," the angel whispered. "Everywhere. When I look at you, I can see it, feel it, and it touches me… and it scares me. Crowley, I'm afraid of something He gave me."

The demon blinked several times, breath catching in his throat. He hadn't been aware of breathing in the first place. Sometimes it just happened.

"Uh, angel, I…"

"You cannot understand, Crowley. I'm an angel. I love. I love everything. I love you. But when I love you, it's so overwhelming and much more than anything I ever felt… It's scaring me."

Crowley knew scary. He had been terrified to discover love within him. A love solely directed at this one being he had spent six millennia with already. His enemy. An angel. Recent events had made them more, had cut them away from their peers and respective superiors, and now they were adrift in a grey nothingness, neither good nor evil, still trying to comprehend the events.

Aziraphale had told him the three little words often enough. He had spoken them with conviction, the truth, and Crowley had never doubted them. Angels loved. This angel loved a demon, which was more than his love for everything else.

Now… hearing those words, the demon felt his own musings from not long ago rise.

Gently, he rolled them around to look into the deep blue eyes. They were filled with so many conflicting emotions, but the love was there, burning brightly. Aziraphale swallowed hard.

"Crowley?"

"I'm scared, too, Zira," he told him. "More than you can ever believe possible. Body, mind, spirit… I know it… I can feel it, and I know we're different. I know we're not who we were created to be. I know I'm not the one who Fell. I just don't know who we are now, aside from… lovers," he whispered the last word.

Aziraphale's eyes were wide open, vulnerable, searching and trying to find a place to anchor himself. Crowley leaned forward and let their foreheads touch.

"I want to keep feeling this for you, angel. Forever. Even if it continues scaring me. I'll fight to keep feeling it."

Tender hands carded into his hair and tilted his head to help Aziraphale kiss him.

"I love you, Anthony J. Crowley," the angel whispered, voice intense. "I love you more than anything else, body, mind and spirit. I wasn't told to love you. I came to love you. I fell in love with you."

"I fell, too," Crowley whispered back. "And I never believed a Fall could be so… wonderful."

Blue eyes filled with warmth made him want to dive into their depths, never let go of the man with him in this bed, in his arms.

And to He… well, there, with all the demonic rules. He could love, he did love, and so did Aziraphale. Not according to the Rules Above, but to their own.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale stood in front of the full length mirror, his face a twisted grimace of his doubt. He looked at himself, the mirror image looking back. He was dressed in an outfit he wasn't used to and he felt… not like himself. He hadn't worn something like this in ages… well, ever. Okay, so Crowley had convinced him to put on jeans before, but it hadn't been him. He had felt unwell, uncomfortable, and like everyone was staring.

"Of course they're staring, angel," had been Crowley's soft reply, coupled with a maliciously leering grin. "You look gorgeous. That ass is to die for."

Aziraphale had gone back to medium brown pants and tweed coats the next moment.

Now, here, in this country, with nothing but what Crowley had packed, he was looking at himself in those jeans again. Butter soft, yes, but a tight fit.

He looked… so… Aziraphale turned away from the mirror. "I can't wear this!"

Crowley, who was lounging on the bed, hands behind his head, smiled lazily. "Oh, you can. It's very much you, Zira."

"It isn't! I look..." He stopped, shaking his head and pulled at the equally tight fitting white shirt. "It's too tight," he muttered.

Crowley slid off the bed, moving lithely, almost predatory, over to him. "You look great, Zira, and it's not too tight. You've got a great bod." He ran a hand up and down one shirt-clad ribcage. "Really hot."

The angel blushed, shaking his head again. "I'm not. I'm ordinary and it's okay like that, Crowley."

Serpentine eyes flared briefly and Aziraphale swallowed a little.

"You," Crowley said softly, evenly, "are not ordinary, angel. You're handsome and wonderful and radiant. Your body's just fine and you can show it. Those tweed jackets are an affront to it. And," he stopped the next argument, "there's no difference between you and me, Zira, aside from the obvious." He smirked.

Aziraphale sighed. He didn't agree with his lover. Crowley looked like a trim and fit, slender and lithe and athletic, mid to late twenties man. His hair was jet black, the high cheekbones giving him class, and he knew how to dress to turn heads. Aziraphale himself… well, he was no longer paler than Crowley, thanks to more time outside his bookshop, but he wasn't really that slender and not the least athletic. Not in his book. The remark by Madame Tracy about his age and appearance had really hurt him.

"Give it a try? For me?"

How Crowley could look like a puppy was beyond the angel, but he did.

"Please?"

And words like this one weren't his usual repertoire either.

Aziraphale shrugged. "Okay."

"We're not at home any more, Zira. Leave the bookshop owner there as well."

Another shrug. Sure, they weren't home any more, but he still felt like the same old angel. The bookish type, not the… jeans and tight t-shirt one. Oh well…

Crowley wrapped his arms firmly around his waist and pulled him back against the demon's form. A kiss was placed onto the soft skin of the exposed neck.

"Got plans for today, handsome?"

Aziraphale almost blushed at the seductive tone of voice. Crowley could still broadside him with the raw sexual energy he hid in his very voice.

"Uhm, actually, yes," he managed.

"Good," came the whisper-soft reply. "So do I. With you."

Another kiss, this one nibbling a little, leaving minor teeth marks. Aziraphale moaned at the sensation.

"Crowley…"

"I love it when you say my name like this."

He turned in the demon's arms and took the grinning mouth into a forceful kiss, startling his lover with his fervour. Aziraphale felt a measure of pride at that ability.

When they separated, both men were flushed and breathing hard.

"You, my dear angel, are one wickedly evil kisser," Crowley whispered breathlessly.

He smiled at the demonic compliment. "Thank you, my dear."

Aziraphale reached up and pushed some rogue strands of jet black hair out of Crowley's face.

"You were saying about going out?"

The grin was back and Crowley slipped his hands into the back pockets of the angel's tight jeans. "Mmh, yes. There's that." He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale's throat, leaving another mark that made the angel moan.

 

 

They did manage to leave – two hours later, Aziraphale radiating and glowing and just pure sex on legs, Crowley thought to himself as he walked at his lover's side. He was given more than a few passing glances by both men and women, and Crowley felt both jealous and proud to be with him.

Mine, he mused with gentle possessiveness.

His angel.

 

* * *

 

It happened right in the middle of a lively plaza. There was an art craft village in the old town part of the city. It was one of the main attractions and Aziraphale had delighted in the colourful displays, the walk-in shops where you could watch each artist work, witness how silver was worked into delicate earrings or necklaces, how paintings were brought to life, how clay was formed into beautiful sculptures, and more. Crowley had trailed after him, unable to stop smiling at the positive energy his angel gave off.

It was something he had noticed over the last months. They had been together for more than that, but he had never truly felt it up until those months ago. Like many things. Like he picked up on his angel's presence, his excitement, his radiating gentleness and warmth. Aziraphale had once softly confessed to him that he could feel Crowley, like some background presence, aware of how he felt. It was how he had known to come back when that strange cold bug had struck him.

It had scared the demon at first. Now it was like a soft reassurance that they were linked on so many levels. Protective of each other, ready to take on whoever who might want to tear them apart… Crowley had never felt such vicious protectiveness coupled with the tender emotions of love in one.

Yes, it was scary.

And it was the safest feeling he had ever had. Nothing could touch them. Nothing.

So when Aziraphale was approached by a young woman holding an express package envelope, something inside Crowley rang with alarm. He quickly walked up to where Aziraphale was talking to her, listening to his confused tone.

"You must be mistaken, my dear. I…"

"You're Ezra Fell? Well, then this is your package. I was told to deliver it here, that you'd be here, and you are. So please sign on the dotted line and I can go on with my job, okay?"

There was light annoyance in her voice and she chewed on a gum like there was no tomorrow.

Aziraphale signed with a scribble that might be 'Ezra Fell', then was handed the envelope and the girl disappeared.

Blue eyes met shaded serpentine ones.

"Let's find a spot," Crowley murmured.

They did, far away from the bustle of tourists in the art craft village. Aziraphale gazed at the envelope, mystified, then opened it.

Crowley felt a surge of divine energy and flinched back with a little grimace. The angel shot him a brief, worried look, but Crowley just gestured at him to go on. He even leaned in close to read over one shoulder.

The paper was old parchment and it reeked of Heaven. Crowley almost got sick from the sensation, but he pulled himself together. A gentle wave of Light surrounded him, invisible to humans like they were at the moment, and it soothed his senses. Despite it being divine in origin, Crowley could tolerate the emissions when they came from Aziraphale.

"Thanks," he mouthed softly, touching the small of Aziraphale's back.

Both looked at the parchment where words appeared.

 

 

Both angel and demon looked at the words with raised eyebrows and their eyes widened almost simultaneously as more appeared, as sentences filled out the empty piece of paper.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley felt slightly stunned. "Are they talking about a human?" he blurted.

, the paper said and the demon froze.

Shit, live transmission. Great!

, the words went on. 

Now Crowley froze. "A Fallen?" he croaked.

.

"We?" the demon echoed suspiciously.

, we, a new scrawl appeared.

One of Crowley's hands clenched into the light shirt Aziraphale was wearing and he inhaled sharply. "Shi-it!"

They were working together? Both Sides? It had to be serious.

, the divine scribbles returned. 

"What if we don't?" Aziraphale whispered softly, his question surprising Crowley.

The demon hadn't figured his lover to actually think about it. He had thought he would simply grasp the opportunity to be of service to Above again.

.

Both looked at each other, shock written in their faces, and Crowley's grip tightened again, bruising and tight.

"W-what?" Aziraphale stammered.

the words asked.

They exchanged looks. "Will we?" Crowley mouthed.

Aziraphale nodded slowly. He wanted to and Crowley felt this strange compelling sensation to aide as well.

"Yes," Aziraphale finally answered.

, came the scrawl.

And then the words vanished.

For a moment there was just the noise from all around them, the laughter of children, the shouts of parents, the babble of everyone who enjoyed the day or was taking a break to relax and enjoy the sun.

Then the knowledge transfer hit them. Crowley was used to it, but not Aziraphale. Heaven normally only sent information by paper, not by direct infusion into their minds. Crowley grabbed onto his lover's from a Aziraphale's knees gave way and he made a little sound of pain, eyes screwed shut. One trembling hands touched his forehead.

"Oh dear," he breathed, leaning against Crowley.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Is it always like this?"

Crowley shrugged and carded his fingers through the dark blond strands. "Kinda. You get used to it."

"Actually, I don't intend to."

He pressed a kiss onto the tousled head.

"Why would Hell deliver the briefing and Heaven the letter?" Aziraphale asked as he straightened.

"Because Hell's efficient in data transfer, but they haven't gotten long range communication down yet. Telephones are alien to them and don't even think about cells. Letters are more reliable and Above has them down pat, hm?"

Aziraphale chuckled. "Yes, they do."

"So now what?"

"We find him," the angel simply said.

Crowley rolled his eyes and shoved the sunglasses higher up his nose.

 

* * *

 

They had taken a long stroll through the city, sometimes silent, sometimes talking, but never stopping in their paces or even in their minds to really think about what had happened.

Heaven and Hell had asked them to do them a favour.

Both of them.

Both… working as one on this case.

It finally sank in and Crowley stopped walking, and simply sat down. He didn't care that the bench was old and looked like it had seen better days, that they were in a part of town where the night life was rather lively and ended violently if one wasn't careful. He didn't care that there were people hanging around who looked less than friendly.

Heaven and Hell, Above and Below… both contacting the only two immortal beings on this planet who weren't affiliated with either Side any more.

Aziraphale settled down beside him, his face pale but composed, looking thoughtful.

"I wonder why we weren't told what was stolen," the angel said after a while.

One of the suspicious people was creeping toward them, looking rather unsavoury in character and outfit. Crowley didn't even really think about it when he planted the thought in his mind that even talking to the two strangers on the bench was bad news.

Those news spread like wildfire.

No one bothered them.

"It must be something big," the angel went on. "I mean, it was in Heaven and Hell… what could it be?"

"I don't know. I'd be more interested in the how and where the creep is now."

"He should be easy to find."

Crowley's eyebrows twitched up. "How come?"

"He went to Heaven and Hell, took something and returned. I doubt he came away smelling like a rose, so to speak." Aziraphale smiled. "He has traces of both on him. We just have to keep an eye out for that."

"That might just work," Crowley mumbled.

 

 

And it did. In a strange and twisted way it did, though it led them to someone else first.

Crowley had a rudimentary memory of the name Ashkat, but aside from him being a demon he hadn't really much to offer. Some creepy bugger who usually did the one-on-one tempting and had scored some hits, but since Crowley liked to work the big ones, he hadn't bothered with the littles. Now, looking at the pathetic little demon, or what was left of him anyway, he wondered when one-one-one temptations had started to become old news. Hastur and Ligur had loved them, but Crowley had never seen the attraction.

"I didn't know," the man cowering on the street whined. "I didn't figure him to one of those."

"One of who?" Aziraphale asked, looking sympathetic to the demon's plight.

He would, Crowley thought with a silent sigh. Only his angel.

Ashkat looked at him with huge, frightened eyes, then sought help from Crowley. He had probably never faced an angel. At least not while down on his luck.

"One of who?" Crowley repeated the question with a lot less sympathy in his voice.

"Those humans who meddle in magic. You know, those who read all the weird books and all."

Crowley sighed. "Oh yeah, those. I always knew it was one of Craig's less good ideas to write that trash."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Trash?"

"You know… magic books, black magic stuff, like the Necronomicon. Craig was in stitches over it when he wrote it and some of the guys Below thought it was a pretty riveting tale. Got themselves signed copies and all. He even included a few of them. They never recovered from their 'guest starring roles' or 'special appearances'."

Crowley mimicked quotation marks with his fingers, looking even more disgusted.

"Cathel was unbearable after he was given a big role as Cthulhu in the book. Rubbed it under everybody's nose that humanity thought him to be an Old One, some kind of terrible beast. Wanker. Can barely write his name right, let alone make a good temptation. Stupid bastard. Don't get me started on the bloody morons like Azathoth -- the demon formerly known as Hazel -- or Yo-Yo, who, after Craig's novel came out, wanted to legally be called Yog-Sothoth. What a laughing stock. Fucking gits. "

Aziraphale shot him a mild frown. Crowley glared.

"Anyway, it got to Craig's head, the fame and all. He did a few more and left them all over the Earth. He had fun with what came out of it. No one thought it would get that bad, though."

"Oh, I see."

Black magic books might have been an invention from Hell to have some fun with humans who were susceptible to such things, but apparently some had backfired. Ashkat was a prime example.

Frightened, brown eyes, very human brown eyes, looked at the two immortals as the ex-demon cowered on his beggar spot. From the looks he hadn't had a decent shower or food in days. Aziraphale felt compassion for him, even pity. No being, be it demon or angel, should be treated this way. Ashkat had lost his powers to a human. It was… undignified.

"He called you through the book?" the angel finally asked.

Ashkat nodded miserably.

"Properly summoned and all," he whined. "It was a good incantation. Perfect. He offered a deal, signed the contract, and it worked perfectly."

"You said so before. What went wrong?" Crowley demanded.

"He stole my powers," the demon whimpered. "All of them. I'm human. He just took it all and left. One minute I was the all-powerful and terrible demon Ashkat, the next I'm this." He sniffed a little.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged looks. For a human to learn how to capture a demon and remove his powers within one summoning… this was big. Whoever this man was, he was strong. Usually demons didn't really give up without a fight, and Ashkat, for all his pathetic display now, had been a demon like Crowley. Crowley would have fought tooth and claw to keep himself from being stripped so completely.

"What's his name?"

"James Jones."

"The name alone justifies what he did," Crowley muttered and it earned him a glare from his lover.

"Crowley," the angel murmured.

"Well, I'm right!" the other defended himself. He turned back to his hapless former comrade. "So, any idea where that James Jones guy lives?"

Ashkat shook his head. "He summoned me and it wasn't his home. I could tell."

"How?" Aziraphale asked.

"Uh, it was a warehouse. Big freakin' thing, too. It's where he left me afterwards." Ashkat began to shiver a little.

Aziraphale's expression became even more sympathetic and Crowley just kept him from hugging the little bastard on the ground. You never knew what Ashkat had caught, living among humans in the street.

"Can you show us the place?" he simply asked.

"Uh, sure. But…"

"What?" Crowley glowered.

"Do you have something to eat? I haven't eaten in days and it's cold and everyone's so hateful…"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, you even groomed them to be perfectly hateful toward the poor and begging?"

Ashkat had the decency to look away.

"Figures. Anyway, you show us the place, we'll give you food."

The human eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes."

"But…" He hesitated. "You're a demon. Demons lie."

And they throttle little no-good former demons, Crowley thought furiously.

"Angels don't," Aziraphale said softly. "I promise to give you food."

Ashkat looked at him, took in the gentle aura, the warmth, and relaxed a little more. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"Yes, please," Crowley snarled and pulled the ragged looking ex-demon up by the scruff of his very scruffy neck. "Now, shoo! Show us."

"Crowley, dear…"

"He's a demon, Aziraphale. He brought this upon himself because he answered some stupid summoning spell. Probably thought it would get him a promotion to play around with his mind a little, set him lose with thoughts of greatness. Well, it backfired!"

"Haven't any of your schemes ever backfired?" Aziraphale asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Crowley pushed Ashkat ahead of himself, snarling more. "I never lost my powers to a human!"

Just my heart and spirit and soul to an angel I love more than anything I can think of.

Crowley swallowed. It was no comparison to what had happened to Ashkat, because the twerp had truly messed up big time. He had managed to find the one human being with enough knowledge and cunning to pull off a theft from Heaven and Hell, after ridding a demon of his powers. Sneaky little bugger. It took some real balls to do it, especially since Heaven wasn't really all that cosy and friendly.

He should know.

He had worked there once.

Soft blue eyes met his through the protective dark glasses of his shades and the knowing smile told Crowley that he was an open book to his lover.

Blessed angel!

Angry and not knowing what exactly about he gave Ashkat another rough push and the ex-demon hurried ahead.

 

* * *

 

Why wasn't he surprised? Crowley wondered as he walked around the old, battered warehouse building.

It was in an abandoned district that had once served the railroad as a deposit and storage center, but had then been left to rot. The old rails were rusting, broken, here and there a railroad car lived out the remainder of its short life, and there was no one around. Rats, yes. Rats and cockroaches, even human ones that scurried to hide inside the less shabby buildings to peek out at the newcomers.

Aziraphale sniffed a little, standing out like a sore thumb with his clean aura and light way of dressing. Crowley wondered for the umpteenth time whether or not dressing like this was preprogrammed into angels. He really had to have a word with his lover about colours. It was so clichéd!

Ashkat wrapped his arms around his thin middle as they stood in the downright ruined building that had been home to the summoning. Crowley could still feel the remnants of the spell and the power, but it was fading fast.

Aziraphale walked to a barely visible circle and scuffed at the edge with a booted foot. Wind was whipping through the broken walls and empty windows, and the angel buried deeper into his woollen overcoat. The handmade scarf fluttered gently and the blond strands moved lazily with the breeze.

"There is some power left," the angel said softly. "We might be able to follow it."

Crowley nodded. "Yeah. It's not much, though."

Ashkat whimpered at his side, shuffling away from the circle that had banned him, made him into a meal for a human warlock instead of the predator who would have the human's sins as his gain.

"Can we go?" he asked plaintively. "Please?"

Crowley grimaced. Ashkat had truly fallen deep. The shock of becoming human had turned the formerly demonic being into a quivering shadow of his former self, begging and pleading.

"You go. We've got work to do."

"Dear," Aziraphale chastised him softly and turned to the quivering ex-demon. "Do you have a favourite dish?"

Ashkat gazed at him with huge eyes, the thin, frail form still shivering. "Sandwiches," he finally said.

Aziraphale nodded and miracled a take-out bag into his hands, then, as if in an afterthought, he changed the flimsy, scruffy outfit of Ashkat into something more durable and warm.

Ashkat's eyes were wide like saucers.

"Uh," he stammered as the bag was placed into his hands.

"There you go. Don't eat too fast. You might throw up."

"Uh… why… why?"

Aziraphale's expression was so very gentle, Crowley felt a stab of jealousy.

"Because I promised, Ashkat. Now be a good lad and find a nice place to eat this."

The brown eyes, alight with hope and something the demon would never put into words, darted between the two unlikely partners, then he nodded and scurried off.

"You're too good for this world," Crowley muttered.

"He is an unfortunate soul, Crowley," the angel explained as he joined him. "And I gave him my promise. For all our so-called free-lancing, I'm still an angel, my dear."

Crowley smiled a little. "I know," he said softly, then the softness disappeared and he was all business. "Let's find this guy. The sooner this is over, the sooner we'll be out of this bloody place."

Aziraphale nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the barely visible summoning circle. He went down on one knee and reached out, touching the black scorch marks that looked like scars even in this ruined building.

A faint tingle raced up his fingers and shivered along his spine.

Dark magic.

Strong and very much able to bind a demon. Maybe even a stronger one than Ashkat had been. The power felt strange, though. Not truly black, but also not light. It was like a grey mix, taking of both sides, mixing it together, and something inside Aziraphale responded to it all with a little twang.

He pulled his hand away, flexing his fingers.

"Zira?"

Looking up into the yellow eyes, Aziraphale clenched his hand into a fist and rose. "It's strange," he told Crowley. "Powerful. And neither evil nor good. It's like… he used two things, light and dark, and made himself grey."

"Huh?"

Aziraphale shook his head and started to walk out of the warehouse, feeling unwell in the vicinity of the fading circle. Crowley followed him.

 

 

Outside it had started to grow dark, but neither the demon nor the angel had trouble seeing through the twilight. They walked silently through the graveyard of ancient buildings, ignored by both rats, cockroaches and those who watched them with human eyes.

"Angel?" Crowley finally prodded.

"This man, Jones, he went to Heaven and stole something, then walked into Hell, pretending to be a Fallen."

Aziraphale stopped at a cross-section of old railway tracks, stubbing his booted foot against the rusting metal.

"To enter Heaven and pretend to be of divine origin takes cunning. More so than to walk into Hell after stealing a demon's power. He had that power when he was Above. He was among angels and he entered a place where something powerful is kept."

"Whatever that is," Crowley muttered. "No one's telling us anything about that thing! Top secret mumbo-jumbo."

Aziraphale nodded. "It must be incredible, something unique, and something a human can touch and move out of Heaven. We don't even know how he got in."

"'Cause they don't want anyone else to get in that way."

"Probably."

"Morons."

Aziraphale didn't even give his demon a scolding look. Secretly he thought the same.

"Hell's no better. Here he took something powerful or unique, too. Something a human can touch."

Crowley exhaled sharply. "It's not like we'll ever get to find out what it is."

"When we find him we will. He has it, Crowley. Jones has the stolen goods and I doubt he took them because they look nice in his collection."

Crowley smirked. "Probably. Must be some ass-kicking whatnot. Up There didn't mention an Apocalypse, so I think it's safe to say he won't use it here on Earth."

Aziraphale chewed on his lower lip, thinking. "We need to find him."

"Follow the trail it is then. How good is your puppy nose?"

Yellow eyes sparkled mischievously and Aziraphale gave him a dark look.

"Hey, you touched that circle. You know what his energy feels like," Crowley added.

Sharp as ever. The demon had paid attention. Not that he had never done so before. Aziraphale knew that his lover was far more intelligent and cunning than he wanted to let on. There was more to him than anyone would ever see, except for Aziraphale, who had seen more than Crowley was probably comfortable with. The demon was complicated, and so had been their friendship. Their relationship now, being lovers, being outside the System, working for neither Side, had become the most complicated of complications there was.

Aziraphale wouldn't change it for the world.

Now he stretched his senses and tried to pick up the faint trail of power.

It was there. A little whiff. Almost dissolved. Close by and leading away from this depressing place. Without a word he started walking, sure in the knowledge that Crowley would follow.

He did.

Having the angel's back against whatever might happen next, Crowley walked after him, all senses on alert.

 

* * *

 

It took them most of the night and the next day to follow the faint trail all over town to the apartment building that, according to the name plate on the post box, was the place J. Jones lived it. Crowley, feeling tired and a bit on the short-tempered side, had no patience to convince the security man at the front door to let them in. He simply made him open the door and then wiped his mind.

"Really," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley ignored him. Demons and angels didn't require sleep, but he had developed a fondness for it, so in turn having no sleep made him testy. He liked the hours of nothingness, of revitalizing unconsciousness, and missing out on them because of some freak wasn't in his book of fun.

The building was home to some very pricey apartments, and Jones lived almost on the top, with a spectacular view of the river not far away, the close-by park, and the skyline of downtown.

Crowley had no trouble breaking the lock, and this time Aziraphale didn't even say anything, and they stood in a huge entrance hall that led to an even larger living room. Everything was laid out in a hardwood floor, the furniture was brand new and stylish, the entertainment center rivalled Crowley's, and the demon delighted in the collection of DVDs.

"At least he has style," he announced with a devilish grin as he went through a sizable collection of porn that had been not at all hidden in a separate DVD holder next to the TV.

Aziraphale plucked the DVD out of his hand. "You don't need that, dear," he purred.

The case vanished into thin air and Crowley cleared his throat, feeling a trickle of excitement at his lover's words. Then he pushed that away and went about searching the place.

Aziraphale was scanning, using what he had picked up at the circle and they both ended up in the bedroom, which was a dream of modern furniture, another entertainment center, a walk-in closet, a huge window front, and satiny sheets. Black, satiny sheets.

Crowley cursed the fact that they were on official business because this was the perfect setting for something sinister in a more erotic department.

Aziraphale went through the book case next to the bed and his eyebrows rose at the openly displayed titles. All of the paranormal, black magic, spells and myths and whatnot.

"Oh, I know some of those," Crowley sighed and ran a finger over the old spines. "The Book of Legendary Spells. Huh. Not so legendary. Some are outright laughable. Carnal Alchemy. Now there's a bedtime story. Fun to read. Might get some humans going. Oh, he even has the Encyclopaedia of Heaven and Hell. Best work the guy ever did. Some really humorous pieces." He picked that one out and leafed through it, snickering. "You should get a copy for your shop, Zira. It would be a major sale!"

"I doubt it," the angel murmured and eyed the rather gaudy collection of magical artifacts. "Really. Such waste."

Crowley turned the Encyclopaedia around and looked at the fold-out. "Uh-huh. Amirata would be so happy to see himself as a woman. Nice breasts, too."

"Crowley!"

He shot his angel a smile and placed the book back into the shelf. "It's true. They are nice. Though I like my type a bit more on the…" He trailed off as blue eyes sparked and reminded him that the topic was over.

Jealous? he mused, secretly making note of that.

"Not much here, hm?" he said out loud, trying to distract the angel from his more lecherous thoughts.

Any other time he would have worked on getting Aziraphale into that bed. Right now, he wasn't really in the mood. No sleep and some freaky human thief were a killer in the lust department.

"No, not really," Aziraphale murmured and went through the walk-in closet.

He rummaged around and finally knocked on the wooden panels, hearing a hollow sound.

"Secret compartment?" Crowley ventured.

"Most likely. All in this place is fake. Maybe he keeps the real thing here…"

And with it Aziraphale worked loose the cover.

Crowley felt a spike of demonic energy and before he could react, Aziraphale cried out and went to his knees, clutching the hand that had opened the compartment.

"Zira!" he yelled and grabbed the angel, hauling him out of the closet.

Aziraphale gasped like he was running out of air and the moment Crowley had him in the open, the sun of the late afternoon highlighting the other man, he saw the terrible burn. It was black. Black and scabbed and covering all of his angel's hand, and Aziraphale was as white as a sheet, almost hyperventilating. The huge eyes were a striking blue, an angelic blue, as the celestial part of his lover was fighting to counteract whatever it was that had attacked him.

Crowley laid a hand over the horrible wound and it crackled under his touch, then began to dissolve as demonic energy counter-acted what had been done. Aziraphale groaned in pain. Unlike Crowley, who rarely had averse reactions to the angel's healing, Aziraphale suffered. Demons weren't meant to heal angels, while angels were meant to be able to heal all entities, even for demons.

Pale, trembling, even sweating slightly, the angel clenched his teeth and sat through it, finally able to add his own healing power to that of Crowley.

The demon pulled back, but the injured hand grabbed him, held on. The blue eyes closed, the tense form relaxing, and Crowley let him sink against him, soothing the slight tremors.

"Better?" he whispered after a minute or two.

"Yes," was the soft reply. "It was a curse. A very strong curse. I never felt like this. It… leeched at my strength and it was invading me… growing inside my hand and reaching deeper…"

Crowley stared at the dark blond head, shocked. His embrace tightened abruptly and Aziraphale made a soft sound of pleasure, almost a sigh.

Yellow eyes, hidden behind shades, gazed at the innocent looking walk-in closet.

"It's demonic," he murmured, his senses telling him that much.

"Yes. And strong."

Crowley disentangled himself from his lover and rose slowly, carefully approaching the closet.

"Crowley," Aziraphale cautioned him.

"I'm a demon. I should be able to deal with it."

Steeling himself, Crowley entered the closet and carefully reached out for the now partially open compartment. Nothing happened, aside from the tell-tale tingle of demonic energy. He peeked into the small box and found it was almost empty. There was nothing there, aside from some wrapping material, cloth if he was any judge of it. Frowning, he reached inside and pulled the cloth out.

It was blood red with an insignia and when it slid into the open, something lighter peeked out from underneath.

There was a yell, then he was grabbed and white feathers shielded him from an explosion of Light. Crowley gasped and toppled over, landing hard on the floor, a soft body on top of him, brilliantly white feathers shielding him from the pulses of celestial power.

It was over in a second and only harsh breathing and the shifting of feathery wings could be heard.

"Angel?" he croaked.

Aziraphale stared down at him, straddling his body, the wings still out.

"Are you okay?" Aziraphale demanded.

"Yes, I'm fine. What the fuck was that?"

The white wings folded slowly, but since no new pulses of the harmful energy touched them, Aziraphale finally made them disappear. Both immortals looked at the now very innocent looking scarves, lying discarded on the floor.

One was blood red with golden signs on it. The other was a light blue with equally golden writing. Aziraphale reached out for the celestial one and Crowley unconsciously held his breath. He hadn't been aware of breathing anyway.

Nothing happened.

"The power dispersed," the angel murmured and took the second one before the demon could stop him.

Again, nothing happened.

"What are those things?" Crowley demanded as he got up, brushing dust off his clothes.

Aziraphale frowned, smoothing out a corner of the light blue one to read the writing.

"They are seals, dear. They held something. It seems the residual energy reacted to our presence."

"Fucking stupid security," Crowley hissed, eyes glowing with an edge of red.

Aziraphale let the silky scarf glide through his hand and frowned. "If this was used to secure something… like… something stolen from Heaven and Hell… it was also made to repel our kind, as was just demonstrated. There was hardly any energy left and it still hurt me. I'm not even sure which power touched my hand. They were entwined."

Crowley's frown deepened. "So whatever this thing was he stole, it was protected against demonic or angelic theft, but not a human's."

"Yes."

"How stupid could they be."

"Crowley, my dear, normally humans don't enter either realm. Whatever was stolen from Above and Below, it was safe-guarded, but neither Side took humanity serious enough to add that as a safety-measure."

"So even if we find the guy, we might not be able to touch it. Freakin' great!"

The red glow increased.

"Probably," Aziraphale agreed. "But we still have to find him first to determine that."

He folded the scarves and put them into his jeans pocket. At Crowley's silent question he just shrugged.

"Let's go," the angel only said.

"You think he won't come back?"

"Would you?"

"I'm a demon, not human."

"Exactly. Humans have devious minds, more so than demons, my dear."

Crowley sighed. "Don't I know it."

"He won't be back to a place where he could be tracked down. Whatever he plans to do with the stolen things, he will keep moving to evade probable searchers."

"Like us."

"Yes, like us."

They left again, not bothering with the security guy, and Aziraphale concentrated on finding a new trail once more. It got harder the older it was.

 

* * *

 

Crowley's eyebrows twitched a little and the evil smile on his lips promised everything – and nothing good. Aziraphale sighed and shook his head, aware that he was about to enter hell – at least on earth and at least for a pure soul.

Then again, he might not be so pure anymore, sleeping with a demon and all. Still…

He gazed dubiously at the black and chrome sign that told him that he was now entering the 'Cave', an 'in' nightclub in the middle of downtown. Everyone who was someone came here, or so he had heard from the dozens of hopeful girls, men and women waiting to pass the bouncer's critical eyes. Aziraphale and Crowley didn't have to wait at all. A little bit of magic and they were inside.

Alice Cooper's 'Poison' assaulted their ears with hard beat that seemed to reverberate inside their bodies.

"They're playing our song," the demon murmured seductively and his eyes glinted.

Crowley really blended in. Black leather jacket, sinfully tight, equally black pants that showed every curve and every muscle, a black tank-top, the sunglasses… He was sin incarnate, looking to tempt the innocent, though Aziraphale doubted that there was a single innocent soul in this establishment. He himself had briefly argued against a change of wardrobe and had finally agreed to something in the colour range of smoky grey and anthracite, with a blood red tie that Crowley had insisted he had to wear.

He felt ridiculous.

And people were checking him out.

Crowley winked at him from behind the shades and melted into the crowd, drawing lustful looks and more than one offer as he passed by. Aziraphale fought a brief flare of rather uncharacteristic jealousy, and decided to see what he could find out at the bar.

The trail had led here, into this goth nightmare, where people dressed up as all kinds of other people. Jones had come here and maybe he was a regular.

Aziraphale started his campaign of discreetly picking people's minds and then wiping the interview from their memory. Almost every single one of them approached him one way or another, making a pass, trying to get into very close contact. There wasn't much information to go with. Not even the bartender could help him.

"Well, hello, handsome," a voice purred and Aziraphale blinked.

In front of him stood the pinnacle of make-up artistry. The woman was probably a head smaller than him, but her stiletto heels made her taller. Her hair was bleached an almost white blonde, the eyes mascaraed to compete with ancient Egyptians, and she wore a dress that screamed 'take me here and now'. The skirt wasn't more than a broad belt that barely covered her buttocks and the black leather panties underneath were flashed every step of the way. She wore thigh-high boots and gloves that went up all to her armpits. The gloves made up for the missing clothing around her breasts, which were just about covered with the black leather bikini top she had deigned to put on.

"Uh?" Aziraphale managed.

"So lonely? What's a nice looking guy like you doing in a place like that?" Her voice was sweet and sultry, but also damaged from probably smoking too much. The angel detected some very bad drug habits, too.

"I'm not alone," he murmured.

"Oh? I didn't see you come in with anyone, let alone in the last ten minutes." She slinked closer, running manicured nails that looked like blood red talons over his equally blood red tie. "We could make it a quick one."

"Like I said, I'm not interested."

"They all say that. It's just a phrase."

Her hand slipped down south and Aziraphale tried to step back but bumped into a pillar behind him.

"I do threesomes, too, love," she breathed.

Another hand snaked around his waist, pulling him away from the platinum vulture in black leather and against a very familiar form that was radiating barely veiled possessiveness.

Crowley didn't say anything, just stared at the woman, who sighed dejectedly. Her eyes glazed over a little and suddenly she turned away, seeking a new prey and finding it in a steroid-laden guy who was kissing her like there was no tomorrow five seconds later.

A soft rumble alerted Aziraphale to Crowley's state.

"Oh dear," he murmured. "Are you okay?"

"Let's go," the demon hissed.

The moment they were outside, Aziraphale was pushed against the wall and Crowley's lips were on his. He felt the fangs, fully exposed, as he kissed his lover, and the beginning of claws pressed into his skin.

"Dear?" he asked when Crowley let him up for air he didn't really need, thanks to no breathing.

"Too much," the demon whispered, exhaling sharply. "Thrice-blessed place! You think it's bad out front? Go behind. At it like rabbits doesn't even describe it. Some are even using incantations."

"Sex spells?"

Crowley nodded, his head against Aziraphale's shoulder. He was as tense as a bow and thrumming like a live wire. The clawed fingers flexed and his lips nibbled at one exposed patch of skin. Aziraphale closed his eyes, moaning a little. This wasn't really the time or place for something like this, but…

"Crowley, dear…" he managed.

Fangs graced his neck and he shuddered.

"I'll be fine in a minute," the demon whispered, sounding strained. "Fuck!"

They stayed together, Aziraphale holding his lover in a tight embrace, feeling him truly get it out of his system. Each shudder told him so as energy dispersed, seeping into the surrounding people, buildings and the very air. Any other time, the angel mused, and they'd be doing something much more physical in a very nice hotel room.

Crowley finally pulled back, the tension flowing out of his body, though a little thrumming remained. He took Aziraphale's mouth in a soft kiss.

"Thank you."

The angel cupped his face. "You're welcome. And we're not going back in there."

"No, we're not. At least not while I can't take advantage of the result." The evil smile was back and Aziraphale gave him a frown.

"Did you at least find anything?" he asked.

"Aside from the fact that Jones loved to partake in the kinky stuff they do? Not much. No one's seen him in a while." Crowley smoothed the rumpled shirt of his angel where his hands had dug into the silky fabric. "They all think he's a weirdo. Coming from them, it means he's a total freak."

"Uh-huh. Now what?"

"We continue looking, angel."

Aziraphale sighed and nodded. "Alright. Give me a moment to wade through all the residual energy, then we can go on."

And they did.

 

* * *

 

Crowley leaned against the brick wall of a building and ran a tired hand through his jet black hair. Aziraphale didn't look any livelier than him and from the dullness in the blue eyes, Crowley suspected he needed rest as much as the demon did. They had been on their feet for three days now with no rest, no minute to recharge, and even immortal, divine or hellish creatures reached their limit sooner or later.

They had found and lost track of their prey again and again, countless times, and the closer they got, the stranger things became. Whatever it was that had been stolen from both Sides, it had reeked of a power Crowley really didn't want to get to know any closer. It was… wrong. And deadly. And dangerous. And so many things more.

He still felt the tingle of the attack when the remaining power had nearly touched him. It had been divine, would have flayed him alive at best, utterly melted him at worst, and Aziraphale had protected him. His angel in turn had been hurt by the demonic part of the object, and both immortals showed the strain more and more. They truly needed to recharge. Crowley had spent a lot of energy on helping Aziraphale heal, and his angel was down to his last reserves after shielding him.

Whatever Jones had stolen from Heaven and Hell, it wasn't meant to be in anyone's hands, be it human, demon or angel, but only humans could handle it. Crowley was secretly terrified of facing whatever it was, now in the hands of a warlock who had been able to steal demonic power before.

Reaching out for his lover, he startled Aziraphale a little, which showed how depleted the angel was.

"C'mon," he murmured. "Let's find a place for the night. You need to sleep."

As did Crowley. He was so incredibly tired.

They did find a hotel. It was a pricey one and Aziraphale protested immediately.

"If I have to run around and find some creep who stole from Up There and Below, I want to sleep in style!" Crowley growled, eyes flashing.

He was too tired to control what temper he had. Aziraphale shot him a startled look and the demon exhaled slowly.

"Zira, please. Just… let's get a room and sleep, okay?"

"But it's expensive!"

"I don't care, angel. I really don't. I know we won't get our expenses paid by either Side, but that doesn't mean I've to sleep in a flea-bitten b&b. I'm even paying for it, alright?"

And he would. Aziraphale wouldn't have it with influencing anyone to dodge the charge for a room that was more fit for a king than two very tired and rather dishevelled looking men, divine or not. Well, one was.

The wide eyes of the angel as he looked around the suite were worth the money. Aziraphale stood in the middle of a dream of a hotel room, mouth hanging open, unable to comprehend the luxury for one night.

Crowley walked over and wrapped his arms around the blond man, smiling as he rested his head on one shoulder.

"Like it?"

"I… I've never been to such a hotel… well, aside from business… never to sleep… Crowley…"

He kissed the slender neck. "One night, angel."

Aziraphale leaned and me the questing lips in a tender kiss. "One night."

"We earned it."

"We haven't even found Jones yet."

"We still earned it, angel."

Crowley pulled his lover over to the separate bedroom and Aziraphale gave a little squeak at the giant bed. No noise from the streets reached them up here, and there was nothing but total peace permeating the room.

"It's lovely," he whispered.

And if he wasn't so tired, Crowley would have used this to his advantage. As it was, he was exhausted, Aziraphale was down to his last reserves, and they would need all the strength they could get for the confrontation with Jones. He just knew it.

They fell together in a tangle of arms and legs. He kissed his exhausted lover, their tongues touching briefly. Crowley had no intentions to arouse him, and he doubted Aziraphale would even last long enough. The angel smiled as he took him into his arms.

Feeling safe, warm and content, Crowley let the world slip away and sleep claim him.

 

*

 

He wished it would never end.

Morning had come too fast and Crowley, unlike normal, had woken first.

Laying together, snuggled into the sheet, the demon revelled in the closeness of his lover, the soft sounds around them, the breathing, the heart beat, the sheer life he felt radiating from Aziraphale. If anyone had told him he would one day love an angel…

He smiled.

He loved an angel.

"Love you," he whispered into the nearest ear, kissing it softly.

The words were easier now, especially when no one was listening, and they filled him with pride.

So much had developed, so much had happened, and they were still discovering new sides to their relationship. And their deep friendship.

He loved Aziraphale. Pure and simple. Loved him with all his quirks and faults and divinity; with all the humour and the emotional warmth and the way his angel loved life. Crowley knew this was it for him. He had found what he had been looking for.

In his enemy.

His opponent.

His counterpart.

His angel.

He sighed sleepily. An arm wrapped around his middle and Aziraphale snuggled closer.

"Comfortable?" came the sleepy voice and blue eyes cracked open a little.

"Very."

"Good."

Crowley played with the unruly blond hair. Aziraphale's head lay against his side, warm puffs of air touching the demon's skin.

"Love you," the angel murmured.

Crowley felt something inside of him blossom and bloom, as it always did in such tender moments.

"We need to go, hm?" Aziraphale added as if in an afterthought.

"I guess so."

"Duty calls."

"We don't serve either Side any more."

Aziraphale smiled. "We do for now. They asked, we accepted." He sat up and Crowley sighed with the loss of warmth and comfort.

His angel slipped out of bed, naked from head to toe, and Crowley shot him a lecherous look. Aziraphale just raised an eyebrow and walked into the bathroom that was as huge as a standard living room in many homes. Crowley had never been one to ignore opportunity when it was parading around naked. He followed his lover in a hurry.

 

* * *

 

They had a large breakfast and then checked out. To their surprise, the hotel didn't want any money.

"Your company is paying for the room and service," had been the simple answer.

Aziraphale and Crowley had exchanged stunned looks. Their company?

"Bloody He… whatever!" Crowley hissed when they were outside.

"Just be glad it was paid for," Aziraphale said calmly.

"I am! But if I had known, I'd have emptied that mini bar in no time flat!"

The angel chuckled, eyes alight with humour and patience at the demon's outbreak. He looked a lot better, Crowley decided, and that alone was worth having missed out on really putting a dent in their 'company's' credit card. He briefly wondered who had paid anyway. Above? Below? Then he decided he didn't want to know. It was better.

 

* * *

 

Their search continued and they were narrowing down their target corridor. By the end of the day they had a hot trail and Crowley was already looking forward to finally finding the little rat who had kept them so busy in the last four days. He wanted to go home.

Home.

Crowley smiled a little to himself.

Home was a bookshop in Soho, was a gentle angel with blue eyes and those blessed books. Home was being with that angel, his angel, and holding him, listening to him breathe, his heartbeat, his very life humming all around the demon.

And Jones was making him miss that!

That alone allowed Crowley's temper to simmer, waiting for an outlet.

When they finally did find the human, it was in a lively shopping mall of all places. Aziraphale was indulging in a guilty pleasure – ice cream – while Crowley had strolled through the crowds of the food court, not really out for trouble. He was just… scanning, yes.

It was when he made out their target.

The pulse of dark magic was unmistakable and he narrowed his eyes behind the shades, scanning more intently, until he found the source in form of a middle-aged man, totally nondescript, dressed in designer jeans and some expensive t-shirt that only cost so much because of the label, not the material.

Aziraphale was still talking to the ice cream guy, so Crowley pushed through a group of teenagers just finishing their MacDonald's, homing in on his target.

Jones looked up from his food, eyes narrowing, and half across the food court their eyes locked. Crowley smiled darkly, promising painful retribution for stealing stuff, for making Above and Below come back and ask for their help, for having them running around for days, for keeping him from enjoying his new life with his lover.

The human stood slowly, smiled back, then turned and began to walk.

Crowley followed.

People got in the way, but a little bit of his own magic got them to move immediately out of his path without even thinking about it. It cleared a way ahead of him and he caught up to Jones, who dodged left and into the gaming arcade.

Crowley still followed.

There was noise and lights around him, children squealing, teenagers yelling at each other to score higher points, a cacophony of sounds that hit his sensitive ears and he immediately dimmed it down, snarling softly.

Sharp eyes pierced the gloom and found Jones at the other end already, moving just as fast as the demon himself.

Bloody magic-user!

Crowley burst out the other side of the arcade and briefly got his bearings. He was in the amusement park behind the arcade, just underneath the indoors rollercoaster ride, and Jones was disappearing toward a service door.

The demon decided that it was time to stop playing. With inhuman speed he homed in on his target and was just about to grab the man when something brilliant exploded right into his face. He howled in pain, blinded for a second, and thought he heard laughter, then it was gone. The precious seconds it took him to clear his vision and look around were all Jones needed.

He was gone.

Snarling to himself, eyes glowing a dangerous red behind the shades, fangs showing through the snarl, Crowley banged his fist against the wall. Hissing softly he tried to get back control.

Fucking human freak!

"Crowley?"

He whirled away from the wall and before he could turn the demon inside him lose on whatever unsuspecting soul had caught him on the wrong side of his temper, warm angelic energy calmed him.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale smiled and held out a cone. It was filled with chocolate chip ice cream.

"You lost him?" the angel asked as Crowley reluctantly took the offering.

"Yes. He used magic on me. I didn't expect it. Fucking idiot!"

Aziraphale looked around, then started to head off toward the jungle of plants that had been placed around the rollercoaster to hide the support or to just give it a nicer look.

"Zira?"

"He went this way," the angel just said.

Crowley hurried after him, still cursing himself and the human. He wouldn't fall for that trick again. Bested by a simple human being! What kind of demon was he?

Angrily licking at his ice cream, he followed Aziraphale.

 

* * *

 

It took them three hours to get back on track and Aziraphale looked pale and drawn. He was concentrating hard on their prey and Crowley wished he could help him more than just follow his angel and keep him from running into people or vehicles. All just went out of the way the angel was taking, thanks to a demon steering them carefully around his lover.

Aziraphale had touched the summoning circle. He knew how Jones 'felt' and so only he saw the faint trail the human was leaving.

Crowley gave a bunch of men a rather forceful shove and they suddenly swerved out of Aziraphale's way and right into a Burger King, without even wanting to go there. Now they did. Crowley added a nasty afterthought to take order the greasy double meal with an extra on the side, then finish it off with ice cream and milkshakes, while following Aziraphale.

They finally ended up outside a recently built football stadium, gazing at the dark, unlit structure. The grand opening was in a week and aside from security, no one was around. And even security didn't really keep them from entering.

"What's he doing here?" Aziraphale wondered.

"I really don't care," Crowley answered. "As long as he stays here like a good little human and lets us take care of things. I'm sick and tired of chasing him all over town. I'm not on some sight-seeing tour!"

"His trail is diffuse. I can't say where he is inside," the angel murmured.

"Then let's split up."

 

 

Aziraphale frowned as he walked into the silent stadium. There wasn't a sound and he couldn't feel a presence anywhere. Crowley had opted to scout through the corridors and tunnels below, hoping to scare the human out into the open.

If he was really here.

Aziraphale had felt the trail, had followed it, and it had become stronger, but like the shopping mall, the closer they got, the more diffuse it became once more. As if Jones was purposefully leading them somewhere, only to disappear once more.

What were his plans with the stolen items anyway? Since they had no idea what it was that had been taken, neither demon nor angel could hazard a guess as to what the result of the theft might be. Though it hadn't sounded like either Heaven or Hell would dissolve or break apart.

The warning prickle of an attack came almost too late. He thought he saw a movement in the shadows and turned to get a better look when suddenly something heavy crashed into his right shoulder. Pain exploded in his arm, numbing every nerve. He dropped to his knees with a cry. Aziraphale let himself fall aside and rolled around, trying to get some distance between himself and the attacker. Another move drove him back and he gasped as the attacker pulled out a long blade of glinting metal, stabbing at him.

The blade vibrated with power, an unholy power, something fused together.

Divine.

Hellish.

It seemed to grow in size, fluctuate and shape itself to the will of the blade's bearer, and Aziraphale's mouth dropped open in horror.

A weapon made from celestial and demonic powers? No… it couldn't be!

But it felt like it. Something inside the angel resonated with its divinity, and with its demonic darkness. It touched a core, something only Crowley had ever touched, and he shivered.

Impossible.

"What is this?" he breathed.

Jones laughed softly, but far from maniacally. "This, my friend, is the ultimate weapon. And I have it."

Aziraphale swallowed. Ultimate weapon, yes. It was powerful and it hurt to feel the pulses of magic, of energy, that seemed to thrum along his spine into his head and down to his feet. It touched something so deeply rooted inside him, Aziraphale shied away from the resonance. It felt like…

… like Crowley and him. It felt like them together. It felt terrible and wonderful, promised so much good and bad.

Jones swung the blade again and Aziraphale cried out, moving back, only to trip over something and go down. His shoulder shrieked in pain.

There was a moment of frozen terror, then anger. He didn't know where the anger came from, just that it was fuelled by the simple sight of a human holding this… object… this divine and hellish creation.

There was a dark blur that slammed into the human and threw him back. Jones almost gracefully somersaulted away, the blade firmly in his hands.

 

 

Crowley hissed, clawed fingers flexing. He had felt the burst of power, had heard Aziraphale's scream of pain, and something inside of him had answered it with one of rage. No one hurt his angel! No one!

"What the fuck are you?" the human demanded angrily. "You're not warlocks!"

"You wish," the demon muttered.

Crowley stepped in front of the injured angel, glancing briefly at Aziraphale, who was holding his burned shoulder. The blue eyes contained a fire that the demon recognized as anger. Not divine anger, no. It was more. It was something he had never seen in his lover's eyes before.

Blood seeped between the fingers of the hand pressed against the horrible burn and Crowley felt his own rage multiply.

No one hurt what was his.

"We're here to get back what you stole," he only said coldly as to answer the human's question.

Laughter answered him. "You and what army?"

Aziraphale got to his feet, straightening, radiating energy. "Give it back and we won't have to hurt you."

"Hurt me? I just smacked you a good one and you're talking about hurting me?!" More laughter. "You're insane! No force in Heaven or Hell can stop me! They would have sent their armies after me if they thought they had a chance. But this," he brandished the sword, "will destroy them both. No more Heaven, no more Hell."

"And then what?" Aziraphale asked, letting the injury heal slowly.

"Humanity will be free from meddling intervention!"

"And you will be the most powerful being on this planet," Crowley snarled. "A god?"

The dark eyes glowed with the power stolen from Ashkat. "Well, why not? I can show them what to do."

"And that's different how from the current condition?" Aziraphale wanted to know, rolling his now healed shoulder.

Jones's eyes narrowed at the fast healing. "Who are you?" he demanded, frowning.

"My name is Aziraphale. I'm an angel."

Crowley took off his glasses, smiling nastily at the kid. Golden eyes glowed with a deep inner fire, red at the edges, promising a painful demise.

"You can't be an angel!" Jones called, shaking his head with an insane smile. "I've been Up There. I know how they feel. And don't tell me you're pretending to be a demon," he addressed Crowley.

"Who's pretending?" Crowley asked pleasantly and unfolded midnight black wings.

"Show-off," Aziraphale murmured, eyes twinkling briefly.

"No!" the human gnashed. "That can't be! I know angels and demons! You aren't like them!"

Crowley's smile turned nasty. "Got that right, kid. We're not like them and you don't know us at all. How about you just give back what you stole and we all forget about it?"

Hollow laughter answered that offer. "Even if I were to fall for that, do you think they'd really let me get away with it? Heaven maybe, but not Hell!"

The demon shrugged casually. "You never know."

"Oh, I do know. I know very well."

"Have it your way then."

Jones chuckled. "Exactly. Do you even know what you were told to retrieve? Can you even handle it?" He grinned at their expressions. "Of course you don't know. How could I even think that the Almighty would tell his lackeys what it is a mere human stole. This," he held up the sword, "is merely a shape of it. It can have many. It is all-powerful. It is Creation!"

Crowley's eyes narrowed and he saw Aziraphale's confusion mirroring his own.

"This is what Created, this is what He used," Jones rambled on. "This is the ultimate destruction of Heaven and Hell!"

"Nothing can destroy the realms," Aziraphale stated calmly.

"You would believe that, right? You being an angel and all." The human sneered disdainfully. "If you are one, that is. But this can and will destroy what shackled humanity with its false beliefs. It's in my hands!"

"Humans cannot destroy the realms!" Aziraphale insisted stubbornly.

"No, angel, that's where you are wrong." The grin widened again. "Neither celestial nor hellish powers can destroy the realms. They can take out each other's armies, but never the whole realm. Because to do that, it would need this." He waved the sword and Crowley felt an odd thrum ripple through him. "No angel can handle it, no demon either. It broke and He gave half of it to his arch-enemy, secure in the knowledge that neither side could ever handle the complete thing. But no one counted on humanity, right? Humanity can touch what neither angel nor demon can."

"Oh dear," the angel whispered.

"Oh fuck," Crowley agreed.

"Your God hid this away from every tempted being, split it up and collaborated with Hell to keep it safe!" Jones proclaimed. "But I have it and I will rid humanity of their dominating presence, starting with you, golden eyes."

Power rose around Jones like a whirlwind and Crowley could only stare at the energy masses dancing around the human.

"I don't fucking believe it," he whispered.

Ashkat had been a mid-level demon. Strong, sure, but not like this. This wasn't Ashkat's magic they were facing. This was the warlock's, mixed with the demon's, intermingling with that weird energy from the sword.

Bloody… fucking… freaking… He…ngh!

Jones raised an arm, fingers pointing toward the sky, and the whirlwind increased, the power howling and screeching. Then he pointed at Crowley and things got ugly.

Crowley was fast. He was a demon, he was old and he had been in battles before. Sure, they had been against angels, namely Aziraphale when they had still been enemies the first few centuries, but later he hadn't really faced anyone with such power.

Razor shards of power hurtled toward him and Crowley threw up his arms, creating a shield.

It held.

For a minute.

And then something cut him. His side, his arms, his legs, his face. One cut came close to taking out an eye and he gasped, blood dripping to the ground. A shard stabbed him in the right thigh and he yelped, trying to pull it out, but it was slick and he couldn't grab it.

"Demons can't beat me," the warlock human whispered evilly. "No one can!"

Crowley snarled and gathered his own power, snapping out his wings. He flung a fireball at his attacker and the human evaded. Jones laughed nevertheless.

"Is that all you can give me?"

Crowley bared sharp fangs and his eyes started to glow a golden-red. "No, kid, it isn't." He flexed his claws. "Not at all."

There was a fast exchange of blows, some of Crowley's landing on the human, but he was incredibly fast, and whatever he was using, it was more than demonic power. Snarling, he lunged forward

 

 

Crowley wasn’t fast enough to evade Jones, whose reflexes were inhuman to say the least. He was clipped by the first blast, the second hit him head on, and then there was only pain. It was as if every single feather was on fire, as if they were torn out one by one. Something plunged into his chest –

\-- and he screamed.

Ice.

It was like ice running through his veins, freezing him, turning him to stone, into a glacier, a statue, something undead and alive and dead and….

Cold.

So terribly, terribly cold.

Icy.

Crowley's next scream was of utter agony, dying halfway, making him whimper and cough and retch, and then he fell.

 

 

Aziraphale watched in horror as his lover was stabbed by the sword, by the warlock, and the scream tore him apart. He felt an insane rage rise inside him at the sight of the blood running freely from the terrible wound.

“Crowley!” he cried.

Yellow eyes broke with agony and the demon collapsed. The warlock pulled out his sword with a sickening sound, turning to the angel with a wide smile.

Blood dripped off the sharp blade.

Demonic blood.

Crowley’s blood.

And the angel lost it.

Power rose inside him, burning through his veins, eradicating everything that was pure angel, turning it into something far more sinister and dangerous than anything anyone had ever seen. Aziraphale embraced that power, felt its familiarity, and for a moment it was as though part of Crowley touched him, seeping into his pain-filled mind, whispering softly.

He reached out and grabbed it, held on, and turned to the human.

“You’ll pay for this,” he whispered.

Laughter answered that statement. “You’re an angel. There’s nothing you can do to me.”

Aziraphale’s smile was twisted and cruel, his senses flowing around Crowley. “Don’t be too sure.”

He took in the demon’s raspy breathing, his pained whimpers, the sound of broken bone and torn muscle as he moved. There was the gurgle of blood, the little drip-drip-drip, and he almost felt the demon’s struggle to stay conscious.

Hold on, he thought. Just hold on.

Turning his attention to the warlock, he spread his wings. Gleaming white, pure, angelic, but inside he felt far from it. Inside there was a darkness like nothing he'd felt before.

He liked it.

He welcomed it.

"You made a mistake," Aziraphale growled, his whole appearance shifting with his mood. The wings glinted razor-sharp and energy crackled around his body. "You hurt my friend!"

He raised a hand and energy appeared.

The warlock chuckled. "You think an angel can scare me? You can't, you outdated relic!"

A lightning bolt sped at Aziraphale, who didn't move. The angel raised a hand, deflecting the bolt.

"You're weak," he said coolly.

"I took out your demon buddy, angel. And I'll kill you, too!"

Aziraphale looked at the so motionless figure of his lover, the dark anger doubling. "You got lucky," he whispered. "You won't be again."

And then all hell exploded.

 

 

Crowley was in agony. His body was screaming at him with every move and his mind was invaded by the searing pain of the wounds. The weapon that had stabbed him wasn't common, had angelic and demonic power, and the injuries weren't healing. He wasn't dying either, which surprised him, though that was only a tiny little part inside. A larger part was fighting against the pain, trying to find out what was going on despite the need to get away from here.

He saw glaring white light, felt angelic energy surge, and he felt something… demonic with it. Angelic and demonic? It wasn't the human's powers, because warlock power was different, even that contaminated with a demon's magic. This was…

"Aziraphale," he whispered.

Snake eyes blinked into the divine light that wasn't really all that divine. It was tainted… it was… dark… without being visibly so.

Where had Aziraphale got that power from?

And when had he become so strong?!

Because the angel was. Strong and sharp and glaring and painful on his senses, cutting into the shields of his opponent, wings slicing forward, claws flashing…

Claws?

Aziraphale had no claws.

Crowley gasped as he pushed himself up, one hand pressed to his stomach where the gaping wound was. He should be dead and wasn't; Aziraphale had no claws but flashed them openly.

What was going on here?

The demon whimpered as the pain returned with a vengeance, doubling over while above him the fight continued. Aziraphale had taken to the air and the warlock had done the same, supported by his magic. His stolen magic.

On the ground, the critically injured demon lay, one hand pressed to his stomach, the other digging into the ground. His eyes were on the two fighters, each lance of strangely distorted celestial energy stabbing into him like tiny needles. His shields were down and his demonic side was unprotected, but where he should already be gasping his last breaths, something seemed to still protect him.

Crowley didn't know what, was currently not really interested in it anyway, just praying that Aziraphale could survive this.

 

 

Aziraphale's mind was a blank, just reacting to the blasts directed at him. He didn't care about the wounds he had suffered already, the blood staining his clothes. They were already healing, but new ones were constantly inflicted. Still, he didn't stop.

Power crackled in his hands, was launched at the enemy, and he knew he was winning.

The warlock was losing.

White wings spread, the feathers like fingers stabbing into the sky behind him, and blue eyes glowed with an unholy fire. Aziraphale was peripherally aware that what he was using wasn't true angelic power, but again he didn't care.

All he saw was an enemy. The enemy. The man who had dared to attack his demon, who had nearly killed Crowley.

A hiss left his lips.

If he had been able to see himself, even Aziraphale would have been shocked. But as it was, only one person saw him aside from the warlock. Crowley's eyes were riveted to his lover's changed form, breathing hard, fighting to stay conscious, and unconsciously supplying him with the drive needed to finish what he had started.

 

 

Crowley witnessed the demise of the human with a strange mixture of triumph and emotionless acceptance that it was over. Everything seemed to stop as the human form vanished, blown apart by the weird combination of power his lover yielded. The human had been ripped to shreds by demonic claws that had nothing to do with an angel, and then obliterated completely.

The demon collapsed back, breathing hard, eyes tearing, and his hand convulsed over the wound. Every single molecule was attacked by the celestial radiation, but he felt better than he should in this situation. He should be melting like a demon doused in holy water.

He wasn't.

Somewhere deep inside, the place that always trembled with warmth and that still so strange emotion love, was something that protected him. It was small but powerful, it permeated his whole demonic being, like tiny tendrils of pure Light.

He had been an angel once; he knew the Light. This felt like a distant echo, but not of himself. It wasn't his Light; it was different but familiar.

"Angel," he rasped, stunned.

Aziraphale touched down just a few feet away, the white wings stained with blood, the formerly soft feathers looking as if they were made of metal. The gentle, handsome face seemed cut from of stone, the eyes a bright silver. Nothing of the blue had remained. Aziraphale was holding a sword in one hand; his sword. In the other he handled a second blade.

The stolen one.

Crowley gasped as the angel came closer, his aura so sharp and with a tang of metal, of darkness, of a cutting edge he had never felt with the angel before. Each step was measured, the silver eyes on him, and the demon whimpered in fright.

This wasn't Aziraphale. Not any more. Not his angel.

"Zira, no," he managed. "Stop… it's me…."

Not the enemy. Not Jones.

I'm not the enemy, Crowley thought desperately. You don't have to smite me or anything. Zira…

He cringed back, scrabbling against the ground. The sheer aura was hurting by now.

"Zira… angel…" he begged. "No, please…"

Azriaphale stopped and gazed at him. For Crowley it was like looking at someone completely different. A demon, maybe. A demon whose soul was that of an angel, who was consumed by hatred, but who didn't Fall. An angel with the power of… He swallowed.

Oh fuck… he thought faintly.

And then those strange eyes blinked once. The blue was back.

"Crowley."

Wings folded, the aura receded, and the swords clattered from his hands. The metallic glitter vanished and the wings began to tremble. Wounds that leaked blood had scabbed over by now and were healing slowly.

"You're hurt," Aziraphale whispered and knelt down next to him.

Crowley started to shake with the divine energy. "Angel, please… stop…"

Aziraphale looked puzzled, then his face took on a shocked expression. "Oh dear. Crowley, I'm sorry… I didn't know…"

And then the aura dimmed. The demon sighed in relief and sank back, feeling a cool hand on his own that was clenched over the stomach wound.

Healing energy flowed and he groaned, but it didn't hurt. It didn't collide with his own demonic force, wasn't repelled, and it was nice, really, really nice. His eyes closed and his body seemed to melt, his muscles relaxing completely.

"Angel," he whispered.

A kiss was placed on his lips.

Blackness threatened and his vision danced wildly. The darkness grew and enveloped him completely, but the blue of Aziraphale's eyes was what stayed longest.

Then even that was gone.

 

* * *

 

It was quiet in the flat. There was no music playing, no TV on, no voices talking. It was peaceful and quiet, and the only sound was what filtered through from outside.

Aziraphale sat on the couch, his feet on the couch table, slightly reclined, and reading. Blue eyes tracked the words and sentences, followed a riveting adventure story.

On his lap was a dark head, snake eyes hidden behind closed lids, and Crowley stretched out on the rest of the couch. His arms were wrapped around his chest and he was sleeping, the demon completely and utterly trusting in his partner's protective presence.

A blanket covered the far too thin form. Now and then Crowley would feel the echoes of the attack with the strange weapon and shiver, and Aziraphale would do his best to warm him.

Mumbling a little in his sleep, Crowley turned onto one side, burying against the back of the couch, curling up more as just that wave of cold touched him again. Aziraphale stroked over the tense back and whispered softly to him, sending healing warmth into the stricken form. After a minute Crowley relaxed with a sigh.

"Hate this," he whispered faintly.

Aziraphale leaned down and kissed his temple. "I know. But you'll be whole soon. It's getting better already."

The stream of healing warmth continued and the demon relaxed completely, almost purring.

He had been a mess when Aziraphale had finally gotten to heal him. With all that strange power still coursing through the angel, he had been hard pressed not to shrink away from the good intentions, but he had. Whimpering and scrabbling at the ground, he had wanted nothing more than to evade the creature that wasn't Aziraphale.

He had no real recollection of how he had come to be here, back in their home, in England, when they had just been halfway across the Atlantic and then some, in the United States, hunting some freak human with magic powers. He hadn't asked either.

Aziraphale hadn't explained anything, not about his own messed up emotions, the power fluctuations, the way they had suddenly been back in a flash of light that no one but angels could see. And demons. He didn't question the method of transport, nor the intent. He had just cradled the unconscious demon, felt the warm blood dry, felt the healing energy take root. Lost in his worry and fear for Crowley, it had taken the angel hours to really acknowledge that they were home.

Crowley gave a happy little sigh and the angel smiled, continuing to caress and stroke him in a gentle pattern.

They were back.

They would soon both be whole.

He gazed at the hand resting on the shirt-clad shoulder and swallowed, memories of the fight returning. Such immense power, power that had changed him, that had made him into…

Aziraphale stopped, screwed his eyes shut, and forced himself to forget. He didn't want to think what had happened in that moment. He had protected the one being he loved with all his spirit and soul, whom he wouldn't lose to some street punk who stole powers from demons. A common thief; he'd been no more than that. James Jones had been a criminal. And he had paid.

Aziraphale had taken a human life,

Again he pushed the memories aside and swallowed hard.

Crowley moved again and suddenly he sat next to him, slightly sleep-dazed yellow eyes meeting those distressed blue ones.

"Angel?" he whispered.

Aziraphale just smiled bravely and wrapped his arms around him, holding on tight.

Crowley said nothing, only held him back, humming softly. His wings unfolded with a gentle whisper, black as night, soaking up all light and casting a shadow over the two immortal beings, Aziraphale choked out a sob of emotional pain and clung to him. The demon wrapped his wings around them, burying his head against the warm neck, saying nothing.

There was nothing to be said.

Nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

The chosen place for the habitual tea was a quaint little cottage with old wooden furniture, soft light coming through the windows, pastel colors on dark wood, and a bouquet of fresh wild flowers on the round table sitting in the sun of the day.

Two men were sitting at the table, both sipping hot chocolate from handmade mugs, marshmallows dancing on top of the creamy cocoa liquid. Tea time didn't always mean there was tea to drink.

"You spiked your chocolate," the man in the light blue shirt remarked casually.

"Just a whiff," was the reply from his companion.

"It looks like a job well-done."

"Well, you only caught it at the second refill."

"I was talking about the retrieval of the items."

A chuckle. "That, too. Wouldn't have believed it possible for those two to get it back."

"Ineffable plan."

There was an ungentlemanly snort. "You just got lucky."

The man in the light blue shirt smiled and sipped at his hot chocolate where a bit of whipped creamy still clung to the rim of the mug.

"I'm just surprised how quickly he used those powers."

"Love."

"Love my ass. He was scared shitless."

"And he saw the man he loved in danger, about to be killed. Love makes us do mysterious things."

The second man muttered something rude and gulped down his drink.

"You still want to just watch them?"

"Yes. I'd like to see how they develop. Things are moving. Quite fast, too."

Eyes the colour of molten lava narrowed a little. "I hope you didn't help them along."

"I'd never do that."

"Well, I still remember you and your evolution experiment."

The other cringed a little. "Ah that, yes. Quite interesting, though."

"Freaking big lizards ruling the Earth? I beg to differ. It was boring. Humanity is much more fun."

A smile creased His lips. "Yes, they are, aren't they?" And pride swung in His voice.

Lava eyes turned black. "So, where is it?" he changed the topic.

He held out a hand and suddenly there was a melon-sized object, wrapped up in a silky, blood red scarf with golden writing.

"Keep it somewhere safe this time."

The dark-haired man snorted. "I did! Until I decided to put it into the safe because I was renovating at home."

A soft chuckle and it got Him a glare.

"About time you changed the décor."

"What was wrong with it?"

"Inflatable furniture, bean bags, moulded plastic and nylon items in bright, vivid colors? Oh please. So sixties."

There was a mutter of, "I liked the sixties."

"But you remodelled. Very modern of you."

"Very retro, too." He hefted the melon-shaped object in one hand. "I think I can use it as a paper-weight again. It does have a certain charm. I'm rather nostalgic in that matter."

There was a chuckle. "It was your first house-warming gift."

Jet black eyebrows danced over suddenly equally black eyes. "You kicked me out and gave me half of that useless thing as my first piece of furniture, yes, I remember. I bloody well wanted to kick it back where it had come from. I just didn't know where you had found it."

"I didn't. It was just there. One afternoon I was strolling around the firmament, the next there it was. Very useful, too. Creation was much quicker with it."

"Uh-huh. Seven days and the fun was over." He gazed at the wrapped thing. "Well, no one will get it this time. I hope you've got your security tightened now, too."

He smiled. "Oh yes, indeed. Nothing like a little scare to make your people pay more attention."

"Tell me about it." He sighed. "Beelzebub is growing grey hair over the incident. So, where do you keep it?"

He dug into a pocket and pulled out a key. There was a key ring with a small, fluffy item attached to it. It looked like someone had taken a bear, squashed it down to half its original size, fluffed it up, sat on it, then had it go three rounds in a dryer.

Black eyebrows rose. "A key chain?"

"Yes."

"And a rather ugly one at that."

"I think it looks nice."

"It's yucky, even by my standards."

He shrugged and stuffed the thing away.

"You can make it take on every shape you want and you have it look like that. Figures."

"You are going to use yours as a paper weight. Not very original either. At least I now have it on my person," He said calmly.

"No one dares to enter my private quarters."

"No one would even think of going through my pockets."

The other grinned.

They finished their hot chocolate among companionable conversation, changing the topic from the object to daily matters. The sun's position didn't change, neither did the temperature or the chatter of birds and insects.

After a while the dark-haired man rose. "Well, I'll be off then. Till next time. Hopefully not over such a dreadful matter again."

He smiled. "Hopefully not."

With that they parted, disappearing, and with them, the quaint little cottage with its garden and table and mugs of hot chocolate ceased to exist.


End file.
